


Emotional blackmail is a fine thing to pull out of your arsenal.

by FollowTheWhiteRabbitHatter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Isolation, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - What Pride Had Wrought, Protective Varric Tethras, Suicidal Thoughts, Tearjerker, Temple of Mythal (Dragon Age), The Fade, Well of Sorrows (Dragon Age), Young Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 21:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollowTheWhiteRabbitHatter/pseuds/FollowTheWhiteRabbitHatter
Summary: Dorian just couldn't have had a worse timing.





	Emotional blackmail is a fine thing to pull out of your arsenal.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I have ever written, so I'm sorry.

Mahanon Lavellan was not at the top of his game. The usually cheerful, positive and a little bit naive elf, was now spending most of his time alone in his room, drowning in paper work or his own thought - well, not only his own. The voices, from the temple. They never stopped. He really did not think it through, but then again, what option could be truly better? He didn't want all of this knowledge to be lost to Morrigan. He believed that she would use it to help but... she wasn't Elvhen. It wasn't the same for her. He knew his decision would not be exactly supported by his friends. Especially Dorian. Mahanon felt _awful_ for putting Dorian through all of this. First Adamant, now this? Tevinter mage truly deserved someone better than the scrawny, yellow eyed elf. He didn't even spoke to him yet, too scared of the incoming storm that would no doubt take place. He was too scared to talk to anyone. He only talked to Sera, and that didn't go too well. She was quite brutal with her honesty. All the talk about demon worshipping, the Elvhen gods not being real, and going at him for drinking from the Well... he didn't even get the chance to talk about why he came to her. He came to her, because it was his birthday. He was turning 20, this day. He wanted to celebrate it by baking cookies with his friend, but instead it looks like he just lost a friend. Because he wouldn't change his beliefs about the elves. It hurt. It hurt way more than it should. For a moment there, he actually considered saying what she wanted to heart, but that wouldn't be honest, and he hated lying. He didn't want to lie to his friends. But also couldn't stand to see all of them reject him, scold him.

None of them actually knew his age. He asked them about how old do they think he is, but never told them about his age. Well, Varric knew, but he didn't tell anyone, because Mahanon made him promise not to. He didn't want anyone to treat him like a child. Cassandra once told him he looks close to 30, because of the grey hair she spotted on his usually raven-head. He spent the rest of that day in front of a mirror, picking out every grey hair. It was all because of the stress, of course. He had the world on his shoulders, almost literally.

But Dorian has always been his relief. His escape. He could always count on him. Listen to his silky, soothing voice. Count on it that the man would make him laugh, and make him relax. The man was his anchor, his strength, his sanity. And he was his. He loved that about Dorian, about their relationship, that they could always count on each other. And he didn't want to lose that. He wouldn't be able to be the Inquisitor if he lost that. But he wouldn't. Dorian and him were inseparable. They'd always be together. Dorian agreed on taking things slow, and wanted a relationship built on something more than pleasure. They could survive this, the Well of Sorrows. It wouldn't surely end their relationship.

That's what he repeated to himself, as he was walking up the stairs, to finally meet the man. Dorian was, as always, surrounded by books. Sitting in his favorite chair, holding one of them, as Lavellan came closer, with a small smile dancing on his lips, as always when he was close to his lover. Tevinter didn't even raise his eyes to meet the elf's gaze.

"Oh, he lives. I should alert Leliana to call off the intervention, our dear Inquisitor finally decided to abandon his dream of being a hermit." Mahanon dropped his gaze, joining his hands behind his back. He felt bad for not coming earlier, for avoiding everyone, he really did. And he knew they wouldn't just let it go, but he hoped it wouldn't be thrown in his face at the first second. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, still not looking at the elf. Inquisitor. Not Amatus, not Mahanon, not Lavellan. Inquisitor. That. _Hurt._

"I-I uhm... I'm sorry, Vhenan. I didn't-I thought-I needed to... think. To sort everything out in my head. The Well..." the elf grimaced, and now Dorian finally looked away from the book. "it's loud. Louder than I thought. I am sorry." Mahanon sighed, looking down at the floor. "I know I hurt you by not coming earlier." He mumbled, already feeling worse than he did before. But it wasn't about him. It was about Dorian. He neglected the man, and he shouldn't have.

Dorian put the book down. 

"I told you that I don't want to lose you to the Well, and you didn't listen." His voice was sharp as a whip, and Mahanon visibly flinched. The older man sighed. "But, I understand your decision. And I suppose I would need space too, if I drank an ancient magic pond that would put thousand of voices in my head, and possibly bind me to some god." He added, and cracked a smile. Shyly, the elf looked at him, mimicking the expression. But suddenly Dorian's face was serious again.

"What happened at the elven temple... It's got me thinking." He started, his voice somewhat heavy. It already stressed Mahanon. What would come next? Would the man decide he's tired of being with someone who has no regard of his own safety and health? That he needs someone safer, more mature? Or maybe that he doesn't trust Lavellan because he broke the promise, to not take unnecessary risks anymore? The elf fidgeted anxiously. "I should go back shouldn't I?" That wasn't what he expected. "To Tevinter." _No._ "Once this is done... if we're still alive." He couldn't breathe. He didn't even notice that Dorian stood up from his chair and moved away. He couldn't hear him. All he heard were voices. Not his, not the Wells, other ones. 

_This is it. You said so himself, he deserves someone better. Someone who is mature, down to earth. Not a childish brat like you. Who are you? You're no one. The Anchor on your hand is a mistake. You being the Inquisitor was a mistake. You killed your clan. You failed them. You failed Haven. You fail everyone. You're a selfish brat who never gives, only takes. How dare you burden your lover with your problems? He had enough of them on his own. But you didn't care, did you? You never did. He would never be happy with you._

"You would just leave?" His voice broke.  _Pathetic._ He didn't intend to sound so weak, but it didn't matter. He knew it didn't. "What about...?"

"Us?" Dorian ended for him. He looked... tired. There was no sight of light hearted, cheery Dorian, who threw around innuendos until every inch of the elf was blushing. "Trust me, Amatus, it would give me no pleasure to leave your side."  _Then why are you going to do that?_ rang in Mahanon's head, but did not leave his lips. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He just couldn't. First  Sera, now Dorian? And... why? What did he do to deserve this? "You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world. How can I not consider some of my own?" The man continued, but Lavellan did not focus on his words, too caught up in the voices in his head. They were louder than ever, it was hard to think. To breathe.

"Why don't I go with you?" He tried to make himself sound steady, but his fingers were trembling behind his back. 

For a second, he thought he saw a faint smile on Dorian's lips.

"Take you away from all this? I can't ask that of you." He said, and Mahanon felt the desperation - animalistic desperation - kick in. He couldn't do this. Not today. Not after everything that happened.

"You don't have to ask, I'm offering!" He had to put all his strength to not sound like a needy child, although he already felt like one. Like an ungrateful brat, annoying the adult. 

"Tempting." Again, this ghost of a smile. Where was the honest, cheerful one, that made Mahanon's heart skip a beat? "We both know you would end up doing it all yourself. As much as watching my homeland beaten into submission would amuse me, this is something I need to do." No, no, he refuses. He can't lose another person. Not Dorian. 

"But I need you at my side, now more than ever!" it escaped his mouth before he could stop it, and immediately regretted ever coming up the stairs. He already knew what was coming. And soon he was proven right.

"Emotional blackmail is a fine thing to pull out of your arsenal." Something in the elf broke. He couldn't say where. If it was his heart, soul or mind. Or all three. But it broke. He could not breathe. His head was filled with the same voice again. 

_Arrogant. Selfish. Needy. Stupid. Brat. Manipulative. Toxic. Useless. Unwanted. Failure. Mistake._

_Mistake. Selfish._

He was a mistake. He made a mistake. He was selfish.

"I didn't sleep with you" he mumbled, clearly surprising the Tevinter.

"Pardon?"

"I didn't sleep with you, is this why you're leaving me? Because I was selfish and denied you this? I-I didn't prove that I love you?" His voice was shaking, as was his whole, short and slim figure. He didn't even look at the man, too scared to see if it was really true. "I-if this is it, I'm sorry! I'll sleep with you, I-I'll do anything, I love you, please, believe me, Vhenan, you're my everything!" Everything was blurry. The floor was blurry, the books were blurry, the voices were muffled. The outside voices. The ones inside were as loud as ever. 

"Wha-kaffas, this isn't what I-where did you even get this idea?! Do you really think that low of me, that I would just leave you because you denied me sex?!" Dorian's voice was angry, sharp, painful to hear. It made the elf back away, and whimper silently. He made this worse. He made it so much worse, and he didn't mean to. 

"I-I don't know, I didn't-"

"Didn't what, think?! You rarely do! Vishante kaffas, you just always have to make assumptions, don't you?!" He knew Dorian didn't mean it. No, he _hoped_ Dorian didn't mean it, but it still stung like a blade driven through his heart. He didn't even hear what the man said after that. 

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid stupid. How did you even_ _survive this long, idiot?_

His chest hurt. His head hurt, and his eyes were on fire. 

He ran, but he didn't know where. He didn't see. He didn't hear. He only felt. He felt so much, he was drowning in it, but didn't  _drown._ Infinite torture. 

He wished he died at the Conclave all those months ago.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Varric, have you seen the Inquisitor?" Tevinter's concerned voice pulled the dwarf out of his writer-trance, bringing him down to earth again. If it wasn't for the panicky tone of Dorian's voice, Varric would actually consider telling him a few not so kind words, but he decided to hold himself back.

"Not today, Sparkler. Have you looked behind you? He and you seemed joined at the hip nowadays." He sighed, putting away all his papers, and carefully inspecting Tevinter's expression. He seemed worried, and awfully guilty. Uh oh, he already had the idea of what could have happened. "Now don't tell me you did something borderline stupid and hurtful." Dorian's face spoke for itself, before the man even opened his mouth. Varric's expression hardened. "Sparkler what in Andraste's tits have you done to the kid?" He asked, his voice more serious and cold then normally.

Pavus' lips were a thin line for few seconds. The guilt danced on his face way too visibly than the man would want to show.

"I might have said a few harsh words, in a heat of an argument, about me going to Tevinter. Very harsh, and untrue words. I need to speak to him, to fix all this." 

The dwarf let out a heavy sigh. 

"Of all the day's, you chose his birthday to pull this stunt." He mumbled, and froze when he noticed Dorian's shocked expression. "You didn't know? You didn't know. Of course you didn't. Maker's balls, this kid is sometimes just as complicated as Cole." He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck, before finally resting his hand on Bianka. "Let me tell you this, if hurting you wouldn't mean hurting the kid, I'd turn your ass into a pillow for needles." The mage raised his hands, with a forced smile.

"I wouldn't stop you. I actually would let you, and suggest the most painful angles. But we need to find Mahanon, and undue the mess I've made. Kaffas, if only Skyhold was smaller."

"Stupid. Idiot. The worst." A voice near them said. 

"Oh, there it is, the voice of my lost conscience and logical thinking. I wondered where I've lost it!" Chimed Dorian, looking around. "Cole, have you seen Mahanon by any chance? It would be- Cole are you quite alright?" He asked, stopping his gaze on the small figure, sitting on the ground near the stone wall. Usually calm, now Cole looked in distress. It alarmed both men right away. 

"Needy. Tiring. A chore no one wants to do, a memory no one wants to remember. A child whose cry no one wants to hear. I am not enough, I would never be enough, how could I not see it? Toxic, bringing darkness onto everyone I touch, corrupting the pure, breaking the fragile-he's leaving and it's my fault, how could I not see this coming?" The human-spirit was mumbling, while rocking back and forth, staring in the distance. 

Varric kneeled next to the boy, putting a hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. 

"Alright kid, just tell us where he is, we'll stop the hurt" he sighed, trying not to look as panicky as he felt. He didn't even have to look at Dorian to know his face was twisted with guilt and hurt, to know he was pacing around, cursing in Tevene at no one but himself. 

Cole shook his head.

"Too bright, too loud, the voices are too much, the hurt is too much. Hate, the hate, not at anyone, but himself. His heart is missing and his soul is not his own, there's nothing to love, nothing left to want, nothing left to give" the boy's voice was getting more and more high and distressed. He looked like he was experiencing the pain himself. And then he went still. "The day of birth, day of death, easier for everyone to remember one." He said, voice suddenly grim.

Dorian and Varric could both feel their hearts sinking.

"The Fade" the spirit said, and the mage sprinted away to the Inquisitor's quarters, not hearing any of the dwarves yelling. He needed to get to Mahanon, he couldn't-he  _wouldn't_ fail him and leave him like this. Not now. Not ever. 

He pushed through the Orlais and Ferelden guests, before reaching Lavellan's room. He didn't bother knocking, just opened them with his magic, and sprinted to the small figure lying on the bed way too big for someone like Mahanon. He didn't see anything sharp, or poison anywhere near, so there was a chance he didn't do anything yet. Just thought of it, in the Fade. Despair demons, it had to be their fault.

He grabbed the elf by his arms, shaking him in desperation. 

"Mahanon, wake up! Amatus, Vishante Kaffas don't do this to me, you have to wake up and yell at me for not taking care of your flowers correctly, and not respecting your books and hurting their feelings!" His voice was shaking, full of desperation and fear, but he did not care. He tried healing magic, but there was nothing to heal. He shook the figure again, a bit harsher. 

The yellow eyes opened slightly, slowly.

"Do-orian?" his voice was hoarse, and barely a whisper, but it was enough.

The mage closed the smaller man in a tight, loving embrace, resting his face in the crook of the elves' neck. Dorian didn't even notice he was crying, until he spoke.

"Don't-don't ever-I will _kill you_ if you ever die, do you understand?" He sobbed, moving his hand soothingly on Mahanon's back. "You are a  _wonderful_ creature, Mahanon Lavellan, and I could not have asked for  _anyone_ better, because there is  _no one_ better, do you hear me? Amatus, you are the love of my life." He continued, his voice finally becoming calmer, more steady. He could feel the elf relax slowly in his embrace, returning the hug, and cuddling into his neck. He was crying too, Dorian could feel it,  "I would never leave you with no intent on coming back. After all, someone _has to_ critique your library choices." There it was, the muffled, weak laugh. A sign it was going to be better. They were going to be better.

And if he messed up again, well. Varric was still standing in the door with Bianka on his shoulder.


End file.
